


The People v. Shim Hyunseong

by doomingdawn



Category: Boyfriend (Band), GOT7, K-pop, NU'EST, VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Ensemble Cast, Funny, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-02 09:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomingdawn/pseuds/doomingdawn
Summary: Layman. Lover. Lawful evil. Hyunseong is a lot of things, but lazy isn't one.Haha, sorry. Just gassing myself up. My social circle feels more like a dollhouse than it does a community. I think I'm actually the protagonist in a futuristic Grand Theft Auto simulation. I'm writing to you for help. I can't keep running around like a chicken with its head cut off just because I like people. Who should I marry?





	1. Worker Man

It was a hot night, the air conditioner ran for nine hours while we slept, and yet my body was still covered in a thin sheen of warm sweat when I opened my eyes. I woke up this morning naked, my briefs from the night before tangled between my ankles. I shifted my legs back and forth in a truthfully weak attempt to shimmy them off or up—I wasn’t sure _what_ I was trying to do—and found myself becoming frustrated more easily than usual. That’s right. Quickly; somehow, faster. I grunted beneath my breath and huffed a melodramatic sigh before tugging the partially dampened cloth from my obnoxiously, annoyingly, pointlessly, inconveniently large feet. Cheers! Toes are tools. Maybe I was trying to get them off the entire time, I don’t know.

You don’t fulfill the hot-headed lawyer trope by second-guessing yourself. And you can’t perpetuate those deliciously self-righteous virtues without committing a huge series of vices in your personal life… which is probably why I smoke pot, drink, and proactively look to dabble in drugs in my free time. Breaking the law, et cetera. You know what’s not illegal? Simultaneously dating three men and looking for casual hookups at the same time. No, that just makes you a douchebag. Thankfully, I’m transparent about the whole thing, so they don’t call me a douche bag. They just call me ‘polyamorous’. I guess a conditional open relationship between four people is a bit shakier, though. Conditional as in, I fuck them all and anyone else I want, and they don’t fuck anyone else at all. But that wasn’t my choice. No, they had to curse me with their great intentions and declarations of romance. I came to accept intimacy from them one-by-one, I’ll have you know, so it was entirely respectful. How each relationship came about is a story for another time, though. Maybe things will begin to make more sense if I simply tell you about my life. I’m a hands-on learner myself. I’ll show you, I’ll narrate it. Today’s a great example. Just take my word for it.

The guy I woke up to, his name is Jackson. Spoiled trust fund kid. Foreign, but he speaks my language just fine. Specially after he takes his pants off, but I’ll indulge later.

I usually go home to fall asleep, don’t get me wrong, but today I was at the police station until three in the morning, and he lives very close. So I texted Dongho and told him I wasn’t coming home. I’ll get to him shortly.

Jackson woke up by the time I had shaken the bed enough to stir a sleeping elephant. That raspy voice even deeper, ugh. Sexy, sure. Impossible to understand? Sometimes, yeah. Just being honest.

“Where you going, bay–”  
“Work.” That was a lie. It’s Thursday.  
“But it’s Thursda–”

“Defense attorneys work seven days a week.” I said that a lot. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t intend on boring you half to death by talking about my occupation more than I have to. But it plays into who I am as a person: I debate, I have a vicious temperament in the best and worst ways possible, and I work my ass off. I do all those little big things lawyers are expected to do, who they’re supposed to be. Douche bag lawyer. Whatever. Et cetera.

“Alright…” Like a defeated puppy. I almost felt bad for him, but then I remembered how white girl wasted he got the night before. On beer. Uh-uh. Not my game.

I kissed his forehead out of pity and, well, I knew he’d want more. The forehead? He grabbed my shoulder and I grabbed his neck. Locked up in half a second. I spoke firmly. Somewhere between ‘judge, I know my client is guilty’ and ‘you’re a dog’.  
“Behave.”

It’s gotta be pretty ugly, to see me hit the sidewalk after a night of... antics. It’s not shameful, no. The walk of disgruntled collars and folded suits. I started wearing Robin’s egg blue suits to the office my second year. They look neat. They’re plain. The dress clothes beneath them are white. My hair is a gentle olive and my hair is bleached and then dyed an almost fascinatingly natural appearing shade of yellow. I’d look better if the folds along my face weren’t made _loud_ by the fact that I just woke up, I essentially hate the sun, and my eyes were bloodshot. I quadruple-checked my pockets, though, to make sure I had everything, and I did. Wallets. Phone. You get the drill. Pulled the latter out and texted Hyuk, he’s the second one. That’s where this story is going.

> Brunch? :*  
< ^^ Where?

I’m actually already bored telling this story. The Sparknotes: I’m actually Mr. Han’s lawyer. I’m going to call him that so that you don’t _immediately_ realize that he’s younger than me. Watch, I’m about to do it again. You’ll totally forget I said anything. Mr. Han is probably the guy I should stick with out of my current bunch. He has money that he’s worked for, he’s nice, he’s actually my client. Seems like a bad idea, to mix business and pleasure. Anyway, on an important note, he’s also tall. Not that I typically collude with men who aren’t taller than me in either of the former fields, but he’s the tallest. Significantly tall. And, you guessed it, he has the biggest dick too. Not my favorite, but there’s plenty of potential. He checks the boxes: kinky enough, sufficiently open-minded, and typically submissive. If a man can’t be a submissive giver, we can’t negotiate. I’m not sure if Hyuk’s the most skilled or if his smile just keeps me content, but he actually stimulates me once in awhile. Another reason I should probably marry him or something. He’s also, between my friends with benefits, my boyfriends, whatever, the best candidate to be a father. I want kids one day. Not soon, but someday. Ten years-ish. Hot dad vibes.

See? That was a lot more fun than me talking about breakfast. God, I love eggs. That’s it, though. I watch what I eat. I have muscles and shit. Trying to keep those. We parted with simple, gentle words and that was it. Maybe that’s another reason why I like, maybe love, him so much. He doesn’t make me wait or fight for something I want, but there’s a comfortable, almost proper space. We’re close, but we don’t have to kiss every time we see each other. I don’t know why that does something for me. I’ll get back to you on that.  
I was still parked at the bar I went to Jackson the night prior with. Untouched, perfect. Beep beep. Let’s ride.

On my way home, I got a text from someone who I am almost completely sure has a borderline personality issue. Google it. ‘Do you wanna go to a movie?’ Oh, sure! Absolutely. Fantastic. I don’t have the attention span for movies because I’m a massive Gemini, and even if I did I hate all of the movies in theaters right now, but sure. Cool. Great. I’m gonna skip the filler. I didn’t get candy or soda. Snooze. The most important part was the blatant flirting, and the fact that, spoiler alert, he sucked my dick in the middle of it! Phew, I. Am. A. Mess. Whatever. We left early. I pressed my face against his clothed ass in the back of my car. He came. He pissed me off a literal fourteen minutes later (nothing new). I told him he looked like a clothes hanger and a chopstick. We parted ways.

The minute I got home, I gave my clearance report. Tidy. Single-spaced. I looked tired, but I enunciated. I took my clothes off. Boxers only. I’d live with animals if I could. I was too honest when I said:

“I actively hate him. I can’t stand him.”

And Dongho, obnoxious, annoying, grating. Too literal.  
‘Then why the hell did you let him suck your dick in a movie theater?’

He was honestly just being jealous, and I couldn’t very well tell someone occupying an intimate space in my life that, just recently, I have fully exited a bout of depersonalization that has lasted the entirety of my life (up until, that is, these instances). A total disconnect between body and mind; I’m surprised I could focus so much on fitness and health while distancing myself from all other physical connection. And now, sex feels like nothing. It has no charm or wit, no consequences or repercussions. To be openly dating three different men and still receive this jealousy and fervor is contradictory, but not confusing. I expected this from the start.

“I felt like it.”

There are some things I like about Dongho. I just laughed out loud typing that. Listen, here’s the deal. Whether or not this is a proper acceptable subcultural arrangement of mine or not, this is my life. And among my partners, Dongho is my ‘primary’. That is a term used in polyamorous circles, and I’m pretty damn sure that it’s self-explanatory. Primary, yeah. The first priority or whatever. I like him. He has a cute face. It’s round. I have a sharp jaw. We both look masculine I guess. He’s a few inches taller than me. He’s really thick - muscle, fat, it’s all good. He’s got arms, thighs, legs, a stomach. Sparingly assorted tattoos. He has big feet like me. Huge. We share shoes. He has an above average dick and I like the way it curves. It curves and it’s smooth, noticeably smooth, and milky white, and pretty. He has a big, pretty dick, and I like it. And big balls. He hugs me and doesn’t care if he’s top or bottom, submissive or dominant. We go places together. He wears tank tops and I ogle him in public. He smells like musk (I like that). He’s like a teddy bear, he knows how to cook, and we both like to be lazy and touchy-feely. And he shuts up and takes literally whatever I give him. Physically, verbally. Whatever. And he loves all of it, loves me for all of it. Cute. Sorry, I forgot what I was saying. This was brief. The point of contention is that he’s kind of a loser. He works in a kitchen, but he’s been swinging between jobs for half a year. I’ve been supporting us (this is my apartment, for your information). I also know that ultimately, he’s clingy and perfectly companion-like because he’s got some issues. But who doesn’t have issues, y’know?

He isn’t an evil character. My ex is an evil character. My sister is sometimes an evil character, but only because she grates on my nerves occasionally, and because she has four kids, a sexy and rich as hell husband, and a huge house. (Read: everything I want.) My step-sister is an evil character because she likes dogs more than cats. Et cetera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly: will this go anywhere? I don't know. You just have to listen to your heart sometimes. LOL. 
> 
> Shout-out to the homegirl for reminiscing with me last night.


	2. Feedback

Make any decisions yet? You should know that I’m low-key a little bit bisexual, pansexual or whatever. It’s not too late to abort mission and look for a chick. I don’t know though, imagine a kid with my face? I look like my older sister. Yeah, let’s just say that masculine features are masculine no matter where they land. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. People might even like it. Her husband is both rich and hot (am I repeating myself?) and still married her, so. Their kids are gorgeous! But her? I love you, sis! But we have dad’s nose! And his jaw, and his chin, and his eyes… maybe the big lips scored her some points. 

Am I articulating myself well? Probably not. I’m a much better speaker than I am a writer. I’ll tell you one thing, a good contract or tort lawsuit is going to be written in very plain language. That’s what language is all about, of course. Being clear, concise. Perfectly communicative. That’s the goal, at least. Most people don’t hit it. A lot of them get too damn fancy. 

We got Chinese food for dinner. I ate half a cup of rice and was done with it, yikes. The chicken isn’t always _totally_ terrible for you, I suppose. Dongho doesn’t care though. There’s something sexy about the way he eats meat. That also might just be the fact that I’m literally attracted to any feral qualities I can find in a man. Oh, that sounds wrong. Human men, et cetera. Actually, no. Full stop.

You can only play Skyrim on someone’s lap for so long, though. So I’m thinking about how dearly I worship the taste of diet coke and laying in a vaguely adjacent fashion. Shoulder-to-shoulder. He reaches over to touch my butt sometimes. That’s a ride. 

Oh, Jackson just texted me. Dongho looked over and then scrunched his eyebrows together when he saw the name. I like his thick eyebrows. The little aesthetic cut on the right one, too. What’s the term barbers use for that? When they put the razor down and leave a diagonal line that looks like a battle scar?

< I missed you today

Ugh. What, I’m not worth a period? No punctuation? You don’t know me like that. You’ve never eaten me out in your damn life. That’s not close. Actually, Jackson’s a brand new flame. He was dating a chick for the six months we knew each other last year before he went abroad. Now, he’s swinging, I guess. And by that, I mean he’s straight and thinks he’s scored. He’s going to be the first one I get to see other people and loosen my load in the process, because we’ve only been dating two months. Amen.

> Missed you too. Hope you like my briefs. :-)

That’s right. I left my smelly underwear at Jackson’s. Why? To lure him deeper. Trap him. I know he likes them, and this way? He’ll wash them for me. Two birds, one stone. I went commando all day, and you can bet your ass that I _am_ that prick who puts noses on his manual emoticons. Fuck an emoji. You aren’t there yet, boy. 

I feel like I sound more malicious than I am. Realistically, I am pretty abrasive, rough around the edges, et cetera. But I don’t do relationships and intimacy well (I know, that isn’t news to you and we hardly know each other). What might be news to you, though, is that I’m a rather good and decent person in my waking life. I got into law to defend underrepresented groups and challenge the status quo. Not that rebellion is really about being a lawyer. I said I wouldn’t talk about it too much, but it was relevant here! Anyway. I didn’t date until my early twenties because I have massive commitment _and_ abandonment issues (double whammy!). And now I’m dating three guys! Why? All of the above!

It’s open. My relationships have always been open. I only opened the first one because I knew Dongho was ride or die. That was selfish of me, but it happened. The rest are free-flowing. Now, Hyuk feels the same, so I’m fucked. I’m gonna waggle Jackson off of the fucking planetary orbit he’s twisted himself around my pinky along. He’ll bang other people, distance himself from me. Eventually, Hyuk will feel neglected and also take advantage of it. Then, I have no options, the decision is made for me, and I have a friend with benefits to break up the metonymy of my marriage! Genius, right?

If I commit, there is open space through said commitment being open. If I’m left, or abandoned or whatever drama, I’m not alone. I’m never alone, I’m never confined. So then I step back and say, well, what are the drawbacks of this lifestyle? What if I’m just… _made_ for polyamory and that openness? Yeah, I get jealous. I’d call it possessiveness, and no, that isn’t healthy. I’ll tell you what, though: it’s gotten a hell of a lot better as of late. It’ll keep getting better. Then again, my relationships are a literally a gradient of ‘I’d jump if Dongho looked at someone; I’d be depressed if Hyuk fucked his friend; I’d party with Jackson’s new girlfriend’. I’m actually totally down for not being anyone’s primary except for my own. That’s where this gets sticky, and messy, and not proper.

Not that I’m saying there’s only one way to do polyamory, because I’m not into that elitism or hegemony within a supposedly counter-hegemonic ideology. Like, if you’re against the man, you’re not gonna become the man. But I feel like my secondary partners aren’t connecting with the same message I’m following. There’s no rage against the machine, just this sense of ‘oh, a hot guy who has a boyfriend and money is into sex and some intimacy, cool’. We’re not on the same wavelength even a little bit. 

If it was just me and Dongho, though, I’d get a little stir crazy. I can admit and have acknowledged that. And let me just say that I’m really, really tormented about the fact that I finished the almond milk yesterday. Nothing to take my vitamins with tomorrow morning. Hmph.

Kind of having this epiphany that I feel too possessive over too many people. So, what is that? That if Hyuk wanted to date someone, I’d be jealous. Would that be the end of it? Would I not be able to cope with that?

Man, I hate this shit.


	3. It’s Not GOing ANywhere

Hyuk’s apartment looked like it hadn’t been lived in since 2015. Knowing his career, that’s probably true, but we’ve had sex in the back of a car before, so I take what I can get. It’s an improvement, open space, except he’s got another thing coming, because I’m not horny at all! Quite the opposite, I’ve contemplated driving my car off a bridge a very humble three times in the past forty-eight hours. Why? Depression! Sorry, I should have given you time to think. I’ll correct myself too. 

Why?

Manic depression!

That’s right, ladies and gents. My father gave me his crazy. It’s genetic. I have 500 lithium pills in my center console and I’ve only been taking four a day, because I’m socially liberal, fiscally conservative. Something like that. I was actually in the stateless anarchists club in college. Then I realized that I’m a fan of having things in life. Everything evil (cough, private property) I love to have! Isn’t it funny how that works?

That’s exactly why you don’t call people insane. Ever. Most of the time, they aren’t bathing in improper chemicals or neurological circuits of electricity or whatever. We’re all capable of evil. I’m capable of having an attention span that won’t stretch beyond ten minutes, too. I can’t play games. I can’t even write articles. My reports lately? They fucking suck. And I sit here and dwell on, well, what? My job, which keeps my workaholism satiated? My three dicks on rotation? My decent health? My social mobility? Like, waaah, what do you need? What do you need, Hyunseong? What _don’t_ you have?

Well, 

Peace of mind.

(I gave you time to think, that time).

And it’s not under my control per se, but I feel totally responsible for it. Do you think that makes it worse? Cyclical guilt. I feel dead on the inside, dreadful in many ways, and taking responsibility for it when it isn’t really my fault is only making it worse. Anyway, I have gained weight, my eyes look terrible, and I’m just hating it! Period!

Hyuk is the best person to do this with (breakdown, hysterically). Dongho would become annoyingly concerned in the most overbearing ways, and Jackson would either make a move or try to get me high or drunk to pass the time. Hyuk just lets me lay on his couch and sulk. Sometimes, he sits and lets me press the top of my head against his outer thigh. After a while, I’ll let him play with my hair. If it’s not actually that bad, he can touch my cheek. That’s about it.

It’s pathetic, but I spend hours, days, weeks planning things out. That’s the most fun part. I’ve played a computer game from 2001 for 200 hours and never gotten more than halfway through the game. I know, those commitment issues are bad. Do they look right? Is it fun? And that’s the catch-22, because it’s _never_ fun. I get bored and start over. I forget to delete my old save files and then the game’s taking up half of my computer’s memory and I’m like, what the fuck, why?

That’s me with relationships. I’m not ending them when I should, I’m accumulating them. Then I go out and tell people to suck my dick, but I have three boyfriends. And they’re cool, and they wanna be the fourth. And most of them don’t work, but when one does, bam. They’re the fourth. That’s Jackson. Only the third, but that’s how he happened.

It’s a bit different, because I never go back and play those old characters. But I do juggle my lovers, or try to. I feel complicit, guilty. It’s a system. I feel like I have to. So I’ll do things, I’ll skip big events and blowoff formal rituals because I don’t give a shit about normalized culture, and I’ll say ‘I don’t do shit I don’t want to do.’ And I feel so punk rock and whatever, like my practically homeless dad but the coke zero version. (Like, literally without the coke.) But I let literally my entire life get dragged around by guilt, by things I’m expected to do but don’t want to.

Again, more complicated than that. Mainly because I’m a twenty-something dude and I like sex. I’d like sex with one person, though. It’d be cool. I don’t need variety. I need backups, though. I need it on demand. 

I’m, catch this, bored just complaining. Yeah. I can’t even complain without getting bored. Which is why everything builds up until I need to vent. We’ll go through the motions and Hyuk’ll smile and be too happy or whatever. And I’ll lay here, dead. And I’ll give him a handjob before I leave. I don’t know why. Still trying to figure that part out.


End file.
